Perhaps the World will Know what we Shared
by Dracone
Summary: I need to tell someone. I need to make these things known, I need to share how I feel and how it happened. I need to tell someone just what he means to me. Because without that what will remain when the end arrives and we are gone? Matt x Mello


A/N; Written as part of my Reviewer Rewards for Constant Temptation, this is my way of thanking my reviewers for over 1,000 reviews!

This one is written for **Glostarz**, I hope you enjoy!

Please read and review!

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Perhaps the World will Know what we Shared

I suppose no-one will ever read this, I doubt anyone could get past the security set up on this computer to find this… but somehow seeing it written down gives these events more depth, more _meaning. _There is only so much words can express of course, but I suppose in the end they are more permanent than one life ever could be, they can be replicated, repeated and _remain_ in the system long after the creator of them has passed.

I am, as he would say, _rambling_. I always do this when I try to express my emotions and with a computer it appears to be no different, but then I spend so much time around such machines that my response is, surely, only natural. There is only so long you can work with any machine before you begin to anthropomorphise it.

And see I did it again, I suppose I have no excuse, this is type, I _could_ just hit delete. That would simplify matters entirely, but I find myself against such an act. These words are meant to outlast me after all, if I delete them what does that say about their chances of doing that? Or my own for that matter…

ENOUGH!

I shall say it.

…

I love him.

There, the three little words that mean so much to me, but probably mean nothing to you. How could they mean anything, you do not know who he is, and you certainly don't know who I am. Unless you are the white haired apparition you wouldn't know of us at all, we didn't associate with others. We have only ever needed ourselves and I suppose it's that close association for so long that has done this to me, I shall blame it on that for the little comfort it gives me.

I still don't know why I need the comfort. He loves me back, he has told me so many times and by the look in his eyes I know he is telling me the truth… I suppose it's because in the end I always wanted a hot girl. But perhaps I only wanted because everyone _else_ wanted; now what I crave for is decidedly not female.

Okay, as I know he at least will not read this, oh _God_ I hope he never reads this, he does look female, despite the scar that he thinks mars his features. His hair is blonde, and it certainly isn't dyed, _and_ he wears it straight, down to his shoulders too. You should see the routine he goes through every morning to get it that way… So yes, in some ways he is feminine, but every other thing he does makes up for it.

He walks, no _strides_, into a room and he is like a miniature storm passing through and fixing everything to his liking, ensuring once again that yes the world does indeed revolve around him. Except me, he could never force me, he has tried. Oh I have had that gun pointed at my head more times than I can remember, and I have a very good memory, but I am the only one on this Earth who knows he won't pull the trigger. There are only two people he could potentially do that to, and I am certainly not one of them. As I have said before he loves me, and that gives me power over him.

Oh yes, all the power in the world.

In public he is the one in control and I follow his orders, but at night and the early hours of the morning, _he needs me_. Because underneath all his action, all his bravado and ostentatious schemes he is still the person I once knew, still know. The person who needs to know that what he is doing needs doing, and that he has not gone too far.

He still worries about the time he left me at Wammy's, he still whispers his apologies in the night as his fingers trace small patterns across my chest. No matter how many times I tell him I understand his reasons, he still thinks I feel hurt. I don't, I couldn't, because he came back for me. He didn't leave me there, he came for me before he was stupid enough to get himself killed…

I will never tell him that if I had wanted to go with him then he never could have stopped me, but I needed to stay. I had my own things to take care of, my own emotions to deal with in relation to L. But those are sorted now, that is left behind me, mere events on the long road I share with Mello.

Anyway, I have drifted off topic.

I love him, now I have typed it once it seems easier, and though I have said it a thousand times the butterflies still twirl through me as though it were the first time. It's such a strange feeling, and I wish there was another way to describe it, but it is just like butterflies, hundreds of them fluttering through my stomach.

Yet I am still the dominant one in this relationship. Telling him about the butterflies would probably surprise him. I am the one who showed him everything… I showed him how to kiss, how to touch and how to _feel_. He was so fixated on his goal of catching Kira and beating Near that he had neglected actually living, but I changed all that.

I came back into his life and somehow, in one shining joyful moment, the truth had been revealed about what we felt for each other. He had always been so confident that the first night had come as a surprise… He had looked so scared, I had never seen him look so scared.

…

I looked down into his worried face that night, his big eyes looking up at me in surprise as I pressed him back into the bed, our clothes already scattered around us on the floor and across the room behind us. My hands caressed his flesh and I felt him shiver beneath me at the soft touch.

"What is it?" I remember whispering, moving closer to kiss the pale chest beneath me, hairless of course; the frivolous thought passing through my brain as I wondered if he shaved it or not. It was so smooth beneath my touch.

"I've never…" He had muttered in return, his voice the shakiest I had ever heard it, not even now has it ever become that shaky again. "Matt… I've never…"

I had understood what he had meant immediately, in such a situation there could only have been one thing it could have been. I expect he thought I was going to laugh in his face then, but perhaps he had known I wouldn't… this is Mello after all.

"Not even with a woman?"

Mello had shook his head in reply, just the briefest of movements but I had still seen it.

"We can stop if you like, if you aren't ready."

"No!"

The shout had surprised me, as had the arms which had suddenly moved to pull me closer, restricting my movements, his sudden breath ghosting through my hair. I remember wondering at just how comforting it felt, even though my arousal was making such a slow pace annoying.

"Matt, don't you _dare _stop now."

Those words which had sounded so much like a threat, were actually a plea I knew. He was begging me, well as much as Mello was able to. I know him too well to know that he could never beg anyone for anything directly, not even me. Actually no, especially not me, I make him too vulnerable. You can see it in his eyes; the knowledge that he has handed me everything and is hoping desperately that I won't crush it under foot. You reading this Near? Ever thought he wasn't confident, no I expect you never realised just how much the weight of all he had to do crushed him.

…

Yet again I digress, but I find these things so hard to write… but I know I must, I feel the end is approaching and I want to make our relationship more concrete. Leave a legacy of some sort at least. If we are to become victims of Kira, I want there to be a record somewhere of who we were really.

…

I had pulled away from him then, to stare down at his suddenly far more confident gaze, and let my hand wander down his body, fingertips grazing across his flesh as it headed towards its destination. His eyes stared fixed on mine, only the barest of nervousness showing in their depths. Finally I gripped him, the hot, hard, heat of his length encompassed by my hand, and finally I got to hear him moan.

Nothing has been as sensual in my life as that moan. The tone deep and rich, the quiet sound filling the room and washing over me. It was smooth and velvety, in fact the sound of it was almost like chocolate.

…

Perhaps such an analogy is fitting for someone such as Mello, he eats so much of it.

…

A sudden desire had overcome me then and nothing could have restrained me from bending down and claiming his mouth, my tongue immediately darting forward to taste the warm cavern of Mello's mouth, my hand still slowly caressing his member and making his body arch up towards me. I have to admit to my great delight that he does indeed taste like chocolate, the deep bitter taste of dark chocolate, the cocoa infusing every inch of his mouth. It is always there, no matter how hard I work to remove the taste and replace it with my own, he always tastes like chocolate… and I love it.

His hands had found me then, his nails scraping across my flesh as he began to explore my body finding all those areas that made me squirm. He had never done this before, but still he seemed like an expert, but then he had always been a fast learner. His tongue was already beginning to fight with mine for dominance, but in this area I still had him. I still do, our kisses still leave him panting and breathless no matter how hard he tries.

His fingers shifted to my shoulders then and pushed me away, his face flushed beneath me as he stared up at me panting.

"If you are going to do this, please do it soon."

So I had. My fingers and mouth exploring his body as I showed him how much I cared for him, how much I loved him, his own fingers had explored me in much the same reverential tone.

I left him only once that night, leaving him shuddering on the bed, his fingers twining into the sheets as his arousal gripped his body. From the bleariness in his eyes I knew he had not experienced this often, and certainly not at the hands of another. He had definitely been telling me the truth earlier that night, but I had not doubted him even then.

My search was hasty through the bathroom, trying to find something I could use to ease my entry into Mello. I did not want to hurt him, my brain was still informing me then of just how bad the morning was going to be if Mello woke up in too much pain; plus hurting him would mean I was not a very good lover. Finally I had found what I needed and raced back to Mello's side, the man looking up at me with relieved eyes.

As it was Mello had only accepted the barest amount of preparation his need translating into force. He was not someone who would beg, but he would demand. He demanded me to continue onwards and to finally enter him. I obeyed him of course, plunging into that tight heat, the cream I had used a sharp, cold contrast that teased at my overly sensitive skin. I had not been able to resist immediately beginning to move, wanting more of the man beneath me; not caring that I was being rough. I was revelling in the joy of having Mello for my very own. I had never expected that I would be the one on top in this relationship.

He had not minded such sharp treatment, his heels digging into my back then to force me to move faster as he wrapped his legs around me accepting me deeper into him. He had wanted me to take him this way, his delicious moans turning into the most pleasing cries and whimpers of pleasure. Yet more of those noises he makes that I have become addicted to, wanting to hear them again and again.

…

That night I do believe I found something akin to heaven, a place I have returned to many times. Taking Mello as often as I can, reaffirming our existence in the world and sharing yet more of myself with him, as he shares himself with me. We know each others secrets, sensitive places and the way the other looks deep in sleep. We know each others likes and dislikes and exploit them mercilessly. We know everything about the other, and such knowledge brings an intoxication of it's own.

As he often says, we know too much about the other to ever stop being lover's. The only other option we would have would be to become the hardest of enemies, and neither of us would be willing to become like that.

Despite the messed up circumstances of our lives, and the way chasing Kira dominates our lives, I believe we have found something magical, and perhaps it only exists because chasing Kira separates us from the world. Makes us apart from those around us, but then we have always been this way, always been separate.

I am not sure whether this confession would make sense to anyone, or reveal what I want it to. But I had to put my feelings into words, had to share them with someone. I know that the end must be approaching, I look at the scar on his face as proof of that. His plans have come close to failure before and I fear what he has planned with Takada means the worst for us. But I don't care. Neither of us could stop this now, we continue on or we fall. And if we fall while we are trying to continue on, then at least we can say we tried.

We were raised at Wammy's after all, we can't back down, not now. So I write this so at least some of what we have remains after tomorrow, so perhaps the world will know what we shared.

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End file.
